


Paper Faces

by Folle



Category: Dream Daddy: A Dad Dating Simulator
Genre: Anal Sex, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Oral Sex, Other, Rimming, angst with an eventual happy ending, more tags to come once i write more, warning for prostitute/stripper dadsona
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-25
Updated: 2017-08-03
Packaged: 2018-12-06 23:17:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11611002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Folle/pseuds/Folle
Summary: Michael might just be a little bit more than fucked up. But what would you expect from someone who pays their bills by moonlighting as a prostitute and stripper named Toxic Love? He just has to make sure that no one every finds out, especially not his new next door neighbor, Joseph Christiansen, who is one of his closest friends and also one of his regulars.But things get a little bit wonky when he has to take the stage once again to dance at Joseph's birthday party.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> fuck you corn, meso, and lin i hate you all

It’s going to be alright.

“Dad, what’re you doing?"

He probably won’t see anyone he knows anyways.

“Open up the door!”

The other dads wouldn’t go to place like that on a Sunday night. Especially not Joseph.

“I’m going to break it down! You can’t hide from me forever!”

Do any of them know? Do they suspect? Do they wonder why he leaves so late at night and doesn’t come back until morning with a limp and bruises on his body? Why he can never look Joseph directly in the eyes whenever he starts showing off his knots?

“Come oooooon, I really need to pee!”

“Amanda Ann, there is perfectly good fire hydrant by the curb!” Crap, crap, crap. She’s broken down a door once to pee, and he’s certain she’ll do it again. Plastic clatters against tile, and Michael scrambles to gather everything up into the gallon sized freezer bag before-

With a loud crack coming from the door, the contents of the bag go flying everywhere, and his hand clenches the bottle it had been holding, causing a thick, vicious fluid to squirt out and trickle down his hand and drip into the sink. Before he can even release the breath he had been holding, the door swings open. Amanda stands there, triumphant, sneering at her defeated foe before she takes in the scene before her.

Makeup is scattered everywhere, and her dad is holding a bottle of jet black temporary dye that is still currently being squeezed out and is pooling into the sink and onto the floor. His hair is completely covered in the dye, although there are a few tufts of his signature faded red that stick out. His glasses sit perched on the edge of the sink, and one of his eyes is a warm, honey brown, while the other is a startling shade of blue. He has quite flawless eyeliner and shimmering eyeshadow that seems so be an iridescent black and changes colors every time he shifts his head. His lips seemed a little redder than normal than usual, but not unusually so, and there are smears of contour on his forehead that he never blended in.

And the cherry on this horrific, toxic smelling cake, are the tight leather pants her father is wearing, and the lack of his shirt, showing off his oddly ripped dad bod.

It’s a scene she’s familiar with, way too familiar. When she was younger, she would laugh at the state of disarray her father was in, and would try to do his makeup, and smear the hair dye everywhere.

But now her face just falls, and she can’t meet his eyes. “Oh… You’re going out to work then?” Her voice is terse and sharp enough to cut steel. There’s nothing left of her normal, lax, teenage self. “It’s okay, it’s not like we had plans or anything…”

Michael drops everything he’s holding and slumps down. “Manda Panda, you know I don’t like this as much as you do. But Daddy called…”

“But that spineless slime ball always calls and you just ignore him! What’s so different this time that you’re going back to him?!” she yells. Her eyes start to water, but are still filled with such rage. It’s soft around the edges though, just soft enough for him to fold in on himself.

“I… I never left Amanda. I never stopped working for Daddy-”

“You’ve got to be shitting me, dad-!”

“Amanda, I didn’t have a choice!” Michael shouts, jumping up from the toilet. “The last time I tried to leave Daddy, I- your dad… your dad, he…” Michael shivers, and digs his fingernails into the flesh of his palm. He has to take in a deep breath to stop from hyperventilating. The blood, oh God there was so much, it covered his face and arms and it smeared all over the man who pulled him away. He was screaming so much that the cacophony of the screaming and sirens, and his captor’s quiet and out of breath sobbing. The phantom feeling of arms wrapped around him tightly and his fingers clawing into leather while he tried to free himself to get back to Alex, to piece him back together are still there. He couldn’t even tell which bits were his husbands, and which belonged to the woman caught in the crossfire.

_Come on, Michael. Deep breaths, in 3, hold 3, out 3. There you go. At least you’re not going to have this meltdown around Amanda this time._

“Your dad thought I should stay working for Daddy! He said it kept me in shape, and honestly sweetie, with everything that’s going on, I need a something to keep me busy.” He musters up the biggest, cheesiest smile he can, and pulls Amanda in for a hug. “You don’t need to worry sweet pea, I’m just doing this for fun and a little extra cash so I can save up for a little something something.” He pulls back and places a light kiss to her forehead. “Or, if you don’t help me bring back Toxic Love, I just must have to spend it on a new branch pruner, maybe even some propane and propane accessories-”

“IF YOU GET ME A DOG I PROMISE YOU WONT EVEN LOOK LIKE YOURSELF!”

And with that, his face is being assaulted with a wet wipe, and he’s forced back down onto the toilet to sit for an hour like a patient little doll while she paints his face and applies what’s left of the hair dye. To be completely honest, the bottom of the tub’s going to be stained black for a long time after washing it out and in hindsight it wasn’t his best idea.

He sits patiently while Amanda styles his hair, and contours his face, her tongue stuck out in concentration. And true to her word, he barely recognizes himself when he glances in the mirror. He looks like a visage of oversexualized glam punk rock bands from the 90’s, complete with a carefully sculpted face, unnaturally colored eyes, and a large baggie full of glitter, just waiting to be dumped all over his body. But he would never do that to his own house, never. Flashbacks from the concert he took Amanda to play back in his head.

He shrugs on his favorite oversized black hoodie, and pulls up the hood, effectively hiding his face. He decides it would be best if he swapped out his leather pants for a ratty pair of jeans, at least until he gets to the joint. As he’s walking out the door, Amanda grabs him by the arm.

“Dad, are you sure you’re going to be alright?” she asks, with a sincerity in her voice that he hasn’t heard in years. It makes his face soften, just like it used to whenever he saw Amanda’s childlike curiosity shine through.

“Sweet pea, I’m going to be fine. I’m only going to dance for somebody’s birthday, nothing more. I promise you everything’s going to be okay, and that I’m going to sneak back the rest of the cake for you.” Michael hugs her close and kisses the top of her head.

“Get me the entire cake, and I’ll find the heating pad for you when you get home,” she giggles, and tries to squirm out of his grasp.

“You know what, I think we have a deal my little Manda Panda!” Michael picks her up, and spins he around in a circle before dumping her body on the couch. “Just don’t watch the new episode of Paranormal Ice Road Truck Drivers without me!” he shouts as he rushes out the door.

“A little too late for that dad!” she shouts after him, cut off by him closing the door. He fishes his keys out of his pocket and locks the door, knowing Amanda will forget to do so.

“Hey there neighbor!” a familiar voice shouts from behind him.

Michael immediately freezes up, and accidentally drops his keys.

_Shit, shit, you can’t let him see you like this. He’s going to know, he’s going to **know.**_

“O-oh, Joseph! Heya, buddy, what’re- what’re you doing out so late?” He thanks whatever God decided to shatter his porchlight with a BB gun when he turns around and sees that Joseph is by the curb, and that the light of the street lamps don’t quite reach his porch or his car. If only he can quickly maneuver over to his car before he starts getting suspicious-

Aaaand he starts walking closer.

“Uh! Joseph, I wouldn’t get too close, uh, Amanda and I have… We caught a flu!” He starts coughing up a storm, and almost actually coughs up a lung. “And I’m just running out to grab some movies for us to watch, and get some sprite and soup. And some Pepto! Because, um, I’m really sick and so Amanda’s vomiting everywhere in the bathroom. It’s, like really gross. She must have eaten an entire box of Oreos or something.” He slowly edges over to his car, and Joseph still comes closer to him

“Well that’s a shame, the guys we’re going to take me out for my birthday, and I wanted to invite you along since they forgot to.”

Birthday…

Party?

Oh no.

Oh no no nononononono _nonononono-_

“It’s your birthday? I didn’t even know, happy birthday man! Once I get better, I promise you I’ll give you a hug, and dinner on me. I should probably get going, before Amanda starts getting sick again, byeiloveyouseeyoulater!” He jumps in the car and guns it out of there as fast as he can, kicking up dust clouds behind him. His heart is beating out of his chest as he checks the rearview mirror, and thankfully, Joseph stands dumbfounded out by his trashcan, bag still in hand.

 

He fumbles with the bag in the passenger seat, and pulls out his cellphone, alongside a pair of lacey black panties that are caught on it. Amanda is already on up on speed dial, and he has to cradle the phone against his shoulder to swerve and avoid some weird guy standing in the middle of the road. Or at least he thought it was a guy, he was way too tall, dark, and handsome to pull over for. From the looks of it he probably would even fit in the car, waaaay way too tall.

He shakes off the eeriness of the guy, and focuses on the road and the dial tone of the phone. He briefly hears Amanda say hello before he cuts her off. “Heeeey Manda Panda, I told Joseph we’re sick with the flu and throwing up everywhere, if anyone comes over pretend to be sick, and that I’m out getting movies and soup. Okay, I’m driving, love you, bye!” He hangs up as quickly as he started the call and tosses his phone over onto the bag.

One of the other perks of moving to the cul-de-sac is that it’s only a ten-minute drive to the club, compared to the half hour he’d have to drive each way before from the old house. He pulls in behind the club, car hidden behind a dumpster. He grabs his bag and rushes in, praying that no body he knows sees him scuttling in. Michael makes a beeline for the dressing room, head down, not daring to look anyone in the eyes.

But when he enters the dressing room, there’s already people in there, some other dancers, some whores like him desperately trying to cover up their bruises before they go home. One person, however, stands out. A tall man with pallid, sallow skin, startling icy blue eyes, hair slicked back with so much hair gel he doesn’t know if it’s physically possible for it to move, and wearing a clean pressed, tailored suit in all black. His hands are garnished with chunky rings, and on his wrist is a Rolls Royce. He wears a toothy grin as he holds his arms out.

“Michael, a pleasure to see you in person!” His voice is as slimy as he looks.

Michael doesn’t have any other choice than to put on a pseudo smile and let himself be embraced by the man. “Daddy, it’s been too long since we’ve talked. How are the kids?” he asks in a meek voice.

“Dylan’s probably out throwing up his guts up in some gutter, Isabella’s still in the hospital, and we just had a baby, a little boy named Bryce.” He squeezes him a little too tight, and his hand slips down a little too low, before he lets him go.

“So same old, same old, huh? Congratulations Daddy, I wish your new child the best of health.” Michael tries to give him a pleasant smile that doesn’t look like he’d rather be anywhere else but here, but it’s a little hard to accomplish with the curt slap his ass is given.

“The birthday party’s rolling in at about 15 minutes, so get ready by then, alright? You just need to do a bit, then the other dancers are taking over while you go and flirt with them. Let do what they want, and try to bring one of them back here. You do that, and I’ll pay you enough to have the next month off.”

And just like that, Daddy is gone. He never did stick around for long, probably had a long line of his own prostitutes waiting for him in one of the back rooms.

His mouth practically waters at the thought. He may enjoy all the sex, but it still makes him feel slimy that he has to do… _this_ to pay for Amanda’s college. And that’s not taking into account his violent, erm, “lovers”. He preferred to dance, but ever since the Alex incident…

It doesn’t take Michael long to strip out of his hoodie and jeans, and get into his leather pants. He spent so many hours modifying them for pole work: smooth, matte leather on the inside of his thighs and calves so he can spin around on the pole with ease while everything else in tacky, shiny leather; and expertly places cuts to allow the flexibility that earned him the nickname “Pretzel Boy” back in college. Okay, so maybe he can’t get his legs behind his head anymore, but he can still do split!

He glanced in the mirror, taking in the sight. It’s been years since he last saw himself like this. Not since Alex… Back then his shtick was hair bands from the 80’s, with teased hair, nipple piercings, neon eyeshadow, and enough glitter to make him shine like a disco ball. Now he seems more like the pretty boy in a rebel punk band, with stylized pushed back, sleep tousled hair, face carefully carved by makeup, and dark, shiny eye makeup. Well, at least the piercings and glitter never changed.

Michael hurries to get ready, and applies a little extra lipstick. Nothing extreme, just enough color to make his look a little bit abused. The other dads we’re going to be here any minute now, and he needs to get into position before his nerves make him run out of the building, grabbing Amanda, and getting the hell out of dodge and never looking back. Get out of the country, maybe steal a boat and go to Canada or something.

But nevertheless, he pushes forward and waits just behind the entrance with the other dancers. As he exits the dressing room, he catches sight of the tramp stamp he got so long, he doesn’t even remember why he got it. He was probably absolutely shit faced at the time and pressured by another prostitute. He doesn’t know any of them, all way too young. Almost all the same age as Amanda. One of them still has a baby face, and soft orange curls that bounce as he shakes, either from excitement or nerves. He decides to focus on his stretches instead.

DJ Spinmaster Quinn, because of course he also works at the club, announces the entrance of Toxic Love, the other dancers spare him no thought as they shove him out on stage. And just like that, seeing the bright lights shine into his eyes and the speakers blare to life, all his nerves melt away, and it’s just like he’s 20 again, and there’s a group of horny, lonely dads waiting for him to shake his goods at the end of the ramp. No longer is Michael there, but Toxic Love, the stripper who dances to cheesy pop punk songs from the early 2000's.

_“I guess I just lost my husband, I don't know where he went-”_

The whole dance involves a lot of gyrating, butt shaking, and energetically spinning around the pole. That in particular catches Craig’s attention. Michael can normally barely do 10 pushups before wanting to collapse and sob on the floor. But there something about whipping his body around and hanging on the pole.

He periodically jumps down off the ramp to go tease the other dead. In the heat of things, he ends up in Joseph’s lap, running his hands down the blushing man’s face and chest before pushing off and going to grab Robert by the lapels of his jacket and grind up against him.

The others seem a little too shy when he comes up to them. Except for Brian, who doesn’t even seem like he’s particularly bothered by the show. In fact, he even settles his hands Michael’s hips when he comes up to him.

Mat just awkwardly smiles and tries to move away, Hugo doesn’t exactly appreciate hands sneaking up his shirt when he passes by, and Damien squeaks when his ass is squeezed. Craig seems to be having the time of his life, which isn’t surprising considering that whenever he’s in his car, he blares exclusively P!nk CDs. Not that he can blame him, they’re decent songs. He doesn’t mind in the slightest when Michael takes advantage of the situation to rub his hands up his glorious, glorious muscles. His pecs are just as perky and firm as he was dreaming they were.

By the time the end of the song starts coming up, he swiftly jumps back up on stage to get one last good routine on the pole. Just enough to work up a good sweat before sliding over to the edge of the stage on his knees, chest heaving, legs spread, and sweat trickling down his muscles. It’s one of the nice things about his leather pants, is that he doesn’t need to stuff to make himself look bigger. The pants hug every curve of his body, even _that_ one.

_“I am a rock star, I got my rock moves, and I don't want you tonight!”_

There’s a round of applause from the rest of the dads. A very, _very_ enthusiastic applause that’s cut short by Quinn announcing the next dancers, and his failing relationship with his wife, leaving Michael’s only choice to jump off stage, and charm the dads who aren’t entranced by the newer, younger dancers, until he can slip away into the night without notice.

He has to put on his best, most sultry expression he can muster before hoping up onto the table directly in front of Joseph, who honestly can’t get any redder if he tried. Michael’s fingers briefly touch the cheap, tiny tiara on nestled in his neatly styled hair. Or formerly neatly styled hair. “Well hello there birthday boy,” his voice is low, and way deeper than he’s used to. Hopefully he won’t have to talk too much, because even without it he knows his voice is going to be thrashed the next day. “I hope you’re having a good time tonight. Because I know _I_ definitely am with my favorite customer coming to see me dance, just for him.”

Just barely out of the corner of his eye, Michael can see Robert staring the both of them down, and if Michael hadn’t spent so long staring at his face from across the bar, he would have thought it was just his standard emotionless snarl. But he could make out little lines, lines he knew meant Robert was pissed the fuck off. Michael leans in closer, body shielding the two of them away from the other dads who are entranced by the other stripers, his lips barely brushing against Joseph’s ear. The hand that wasn’t settled against his neck was lightly trailing up the inside of his thigh. “But I’d much rather sneak back with you and make this celebration a little more private, what do you think?”

Joseph sputters a little, and his breath definitely smells like margaritas. “I- I-” He takes in a deep breath, and closes his eyes. By the time he opens them back up, he has a smirk on his face, and he leans forward, his hand heavy and warm on his thighs. “I would love this, lets blow this joint.”

Michael grins and grasps him by the and silently weaves them between table and chairs towards the backroom. The entire time Robert’s eyes never leave them, and Michael meets them for only just a moment, but in that brief moment, he swears his eyes bore right through him. He turns his head forward again, feeling his stomach tearing itself up. He… He couldn’t possibly…

He shakes his head, and focuses on leading Joseph down the damn near maze of corridors that make up the back space of the club. Each door looks almost exactly the same, but Michael has done this so many times that at this point it’s muscle memory of where to turn, and which door to stop at.

He only has a moment to take in how pristine the room is before Joseph shuts the door, lifts him up and pins him against the door, and starts ravaging his neck. “Ah-! A little eager, aren’t you?” he chuckles, running his hands through his blond hair.

“When it’s been nearly two weeks without you? Yes,” he growls, nipping down his neck and chest. “You’re never allowed to leave me for that long again.” He spins them around, and dumps Michael down onto the bed, making quick work of his leather pants.

“I’ve been busy Jo-” One look down Joseph, who’s beaming him a dirty look, shuts him up immediately. “I- I mean, of course, Father. I’m sorry. I ask for your mercy.”

Joseph takes one look at the laced panties, garter belt, and stockings Michael is wearing once he gets his pants and shoes off, and hums. “All is forgiven, my child. Though a penance must be paid for your wrong doings. On your knees,” he orders, voice stern and heavy.

He scrambles to get into position, but Joseph is already on him, shoving his torso down into the bed, making his ass sticks up in the air. Before he can even prepare himself for it, Joseph’s hand comes down onto his ass. Michael doesn’t even get out his cry before his hand comes down again, and again, and again, each one harder than the last. His body jerks forward at each hit, along with letting out a small whimper. Joseph is that perfect balance of rough and control that he can’t get enough of.

Suddenly, the hits stop coming, and he is flipped into his back. Joseph is already between his thighs, legs tossed over his shoulders.

“You’re already heard, and just from that? Oh honey, how sweet of you,” he teases, lightly running his nose along Michael’s clothed cock. “I think you deserve a treat, for being such a good follower, don’t you?”

Michael desperately nods his head, and props himself up on his elbows.

“Ah, but before I do-” Joseph gets off the bed to, briefly, take off his clothes, and rummage through the bottom drawer of the nightstand.

Before Michael even knows what’s happening, Joseph is straddling his chest, and almost immediately crawls back down to settle between his thighs again. He should know better than to pull his arms down, he should know by now that they won’t.

“Before you try anything, that’s a true lover’s knot, so you’re _knot_ going to be getting out any time soon,” he snorts at his own dad joke, and then turns his attention back onto Michael. He doesn’t beat around the bush and goes straight for his cock, pulling it out of the panties that already have a damp spot from pre-cum. His panties were pushed aside, and a lubed finger was slid into him, and was quickly joined by a second one that slowly worked him open, and his member was engulfed by Joseph’s wet, warm mouth.

“O-oh!” Michael gasps out. He- no one normally- it’s been so long- “That pun is a little hard to swallow, don’t you- oh God, d-don’t you think?” His hips are trying so hard to jerk upwards, but beneath Joseph’s grasp he is incapable of doing anything besides squirming and convulsing beneath his weight. The slick drag of fingers sliding in and out and stretching him open, preparing him Joseph. The thought of being taken by him, and the sensation of another finger being slid inside of him, made a jolt of sharp heat pool in his stomach, and his thighs start to shake.

Joseph tongue swirls around his cock and smirks around it, a dangerous glint in his eyes.  Something about his entire body seems to go lax before he sinks down onto his cock until his nose is pressed up to his neatly trimmed pubes. And if Michael’s vision didn’t go white then, it was definitely when Joseph hollowed his cheeks and started gagging on him. His free hand clenched the sheets, and his brows furrowed as he kept himself down, working on Michael’s cock.

His hips jerked upwards as a choked moan was caught in his throat, and spilled his hot seed down Joseph’s own. As he came, he pulled on his bindings, hard enough that there were certainly going to be bruises there in the morning, and almost instinctively wrapped his legs around Joseph. “Oh God, oh God, ohGodohgodohjoseph, please please, Joseph!” he babbled as his back arched off the bed.

Joseph pulled away, spit and cum smeared over his bright, plump lips. “Well it would have been ruder to spit, don’t you think?” His voice was hoarse, and there was this cocky little grin on face that as soon at Michael saw made him slump back into the mattress, and stare at the ceiling with his chest heaving as he attempted to catch his breath. “Don’t relax too much now, I’m not done with you yet. Or have you completely forgotten about how much of a slut you are for my cock?”

“N-no Sir, I haven’t. You’ve been extremely kind to me, but I’m always ready for you.” He was still out of breath, and when Joseph started prodding his fingers around inside of him again, he couldn’t help but shivering.

He doesn’t know when Joseph removed his khakis, or underwear, or even put on a condom, but he became acutely when he became folded up like a pretzel, and Joseph’s cock was teasingly rubbing against his entrance.

When Joseph sank him member into him, his face became contorted in ecstasy. “Fuck, you’re still as tight as last time. Are you lying about being a whore, and only wait around for me to fuck you?” He started shallowly thrusting into him, and reached up to start toying with his nipples. “Mmmm, I ought to keep you locked up in my dungeon, just keep you around to fuck you whenever I want to. You would love, that wouldn’t you? Having nothing but my cock deep inside of you.”

Michael could only manage to let out a whimper and nod, too overstimulated to form words. He tried the best he could to rock against Joseph, trying to make him go deeper. God, he didn’t even care if the entire world decided to burn up right now, as long as Joseph just fucked him into the mattress. He craved it, _needed_ it. There was a phrase he wanted to use, was desperate to use, about Joseph. And as much as he wanted to form the words with his tongue, and say it, there was no way he could. Not as Michael, not even as Toxic Love.

The room was filled with the slick sound of Joseph fucking him, and the mixed pants, moan, and whimpers of the two of them. The whimpers were mostly Michael when Joseph started fucking him in earnest, ramming into his slick hole.

Michael was starting to get hard again, his half-hard erection only getting harder as it brushed against Joseph’s abs with each one of his thrusts.

As Joseph starts getting more into it, his eyes close again, and his brows furrow in pure concentration. He’s whispering something under his breath, but Michael can barely make it out. If he focuses just a little more, it almost sounds like-

He seizes up as Joseph gives a few final, brutal thrusts, while his free hand desperately tries to bring Michael to completion alongside him. “O-oh God, Michael!” Joseph shouts as he cums, shooting hot, thick streams of cum inside him. Michael himself nearly comes right afterwards, cum barely trickling out of cock as Joseph collapses on top of him.

They’re both desperately gasping for breath, but all Michael can think about is how to get out of these ropes and out the door as fast as physically possible, and how much that boat to Canada would actually cost.

Joseph weakly props himself up on his elbows, his sweat soaked strands of hair barely brushing against Michael’s forehead. His cheeks are still very, very pink, and make his eyes pop. “I- I-” he stutters out, and sits up to start untying the knot around Michael’s wrists. “I um… I didn’t mean to shout that, he’s, um…”

Michael cradles his arms against his chest, rolling his shoulders, and breathes a sigh of relief. His body goes lax against the mattress, while Joseph carefully pulls off, ties up, and throws the condom at the trash bin.

He lays down right next to Michael, his body practically glued to the other man, and gently strokes his hair. It’s awkward, even for a prostitute. Usually with Joseph, he does his thing, gets dressed, then slinks out of the room with his metaphorical tail between his legs. But hair stroking? Kissing his cheek and neck? Cuddling?

“Joseph, is something wrong?” he finally manages to muster the courage to ask, turning his head to look at the man.

There’s something about his face that seems… different. That he hadn’t really noticed in the heat of the moment. The creases on his face are deeper, there are shadows surrounding his eyes, and the quaint smile on his face doesn’t quite seem to reach his eyes.

“I’m… I’m just tired…” His voice cracks a little as he hides his face into Michael’s neck, and slings his arm around his waist. “Mary and I- we haven’t been good. And there’s this new neighbor, and I think he’s the only blasted person who’s on my side. He’s the only person I can count on, and I can relax and be myself around and I-”

“Joseph, I’ve told you this once, and I’ll tell you it again: you and Mary need some time apart. You need to split up for a bit, figure things out. As of right now, you’re poisoning each other. And if this new guy, whomever he might be, makes you feel better, maybe you should start spending more time with him?” Please, please start spending more time with him, he misses you, you fool!

He suddenly gets out of bed, and stiffly puts his clothes back on. “Thanks for the good time, Toxic, I’ll be in touch.” His voice sounds so cold and it sends shivers down his spine.

Michael watches him leave, heart heavy, and absentmindedly sips from the water bottle on his nightstand. Probably have been here since the last time he was in here; the plastic taste has seeped into the water. He just lays there, counting the ceiling tiles, trying to collect himself. Even though his breathing has returned to normal, but his heart still seems to be beating a million miles a minute.

_Joseph… He thinks of you during sex. Sex with you of course, but- I think that’s a good thing. Definitely a good thing._

A small smile starts to creep onto Michaels face, and he stands up to make his way to the bathroom to wash up, and get the dye out of his hair, but as soon as he’s up onto his own two feet, his world comes tumbling down, and he’s sprawled across the rug on the floor.

“Fuck, ah fullghhh.” His tongue suddenly feels thick in his mouth, and God damn it, will the room stop spinning and get into focus? He can barely push himself up, or try to crawl. It’s like his bones are and brain are filled with lead. Even breathing like this feels like a monumental task.

Before he knows, there’s some picking him back up, and putting him on the bed. Pale skin, icy blue eyes, black hair, breath smells like cherry schnapps. Everything is spinning faster and faster. There’s hands all over his body, _in_ his body- God he feels like he’s going to vomit. He doesn’t want this, he wants him off and out, and gone and dead and away from him. It’s like his eyes are trying to crawl their way out of their sockets and- it that blood he smells-

Whenever he comes to, he in a shower, with a spray of lukewarm water rushing over him. Black is trickling down over his face, and when he wipes at his face, his hand comes back shiny. That’s right, hair dye and makeup. The club. Dancing. Joseph, lovely Joseph. And then…? His head hurts when he tries to remember anything past that. Like someone smashed his face over a hotplate.

There’s another set of his hands, again, and this time he actually has the strength to push them back. They’re warm, rough, tan. Not the others. His mind is still reeling. If only they would give him a minute to gather his thoughts.

“Michael, hey Mikey-boy. You all there bud?”

Robert.

 It’s just- It’s only Robert.

 He pushes back his hair and scrubs at his face, trying to get rid every last grimy layer on it. “Rob, Bobby, I’m good, just… I need a second.” He tries standing up, but he almost immediately doubles over and vomits. But Robert’s right there, hold him up and leading him out of the room. He slides his leather jacker over Michael’s body – _warm and all enveloping and smells like menthol cigarettes and whisky-_ and he trots down the hall to his room. In there, Robert helps him with the difficult process of getting dressed. He fumbles even with trying to get his legs into his pants without faceplanting into the rug again.

 Robert’s hands are warm and steady, grounding him and bringing his head down from the clouds. As soon as he is barely presentable, Robert grabs his bag and is ushering him out of the room, through the backdoor, and to wherever his shoddy truck. He very carefully helps Michael up before getting into the driver’s seat and peeling out of there like a bat out of hell.

 The entire drive home, the silence between then thick and suffocating, like the smoke of a raging inferno. Robert’s hands are clenching the steering wheel so tight that his knuckles are turning white.

 “Are you alright?” he asks. His voice is controlled, but tense, and Michael can see how his arms are just barely trembling, and how strained his voice is.

 Michael holds his duffle bag tightly to his chest, eyes staring intently at the yellow road markers. “Yeah.” His own voice is shaking and raspy, and he can barely control it. It feels like at any moment he’s about to burst into tears, and break down right then and there in Robert’s truck. “I’m good. Just tired.”

 “I’m going to kill that fucking bastard,” he growls from between clenched teeth. “Being a cheater is one thing, but drugging and ra- taking advantage of you-”

 Michael whips around in his seat. “Joseph didn’t do this, Robert.”

 “Bullshit. He went back with you, and then I found you- I found you like that, dumped in the fucking shower-” Robert flexes his hand, barely constraining himself.

 “It wasn’t Joseph, and I appreciate your help Robert but this is none of your business!” he snaps at him, unbuckling his seatbelt, and getting out of the truck without giving Robert a chance to slow down. Michael stumbles a bit, but steadies himself, and starts limping home.

 “Mike, get back in!” Robert shouts at him, slowing his truck down to a crawl.

 “No, I’m fucking- fuck! I’m fucking walking home!” He can see the road to the cul-de-sac, it’s just up ahead.

 “You need to go to the hospital, dumbass! Get in the God damn truck and I’ll drive you.”

 “I don’t need to go anywhere but my bed, and you can’t make me!” Robert tries to block him from getting into the cul-de-sac, but he stumbles past the truck, up on grass of someone’s lawn. He breaks into a hobbling sprint, beelining directly for his house. His hands fumble around for his keys in his bag, but they’re nowhere to be found.

  _Fucking God damn fuck! That motherfucker-_

He’s already at his front door, scrambling to grab the fake cardinal statue on the porch, and the key hidden in it. He fumbles to unlock the door, but he manages to get in and slam the door shut and lock it again before Robert can reach the door.

 Michael doesn’t even bother seeing if Amanda’s still awake, he bumbles his way straight to his room, bumping into walls and nearly sending a potted plant to its doom. Before flopping directly onto his bed, he takes the time to remove his contacts and retrieve his glasses from the bathroom, which is suspiciously cleaner than he remembers it.

 Then, and only then, does he allow himself to collapse onto his bed, wanting nothing more than to curl up and forget that tonight ever happened. He goes to set his glasses on the nightstand before passing out, but instead of wood, his hand comes in contact with something fuzzy and warm.

  _The heating pad…_

He slips it under his back, allowing a brief smile on his face before he closes his eyes and focuses on the warmth radiating over his aches. Sleep evades him for only but a moment.

  _If you just pretend… Just for a little bit it almost feels like he’s here with you…_


	2. Chapter 2

People need to learn how to be a lot more fucking quiet, especially this early in the God damn morning. It’s-

Michael rolls over in his bed, which is only half covered with the sheets. Fucking 8 am.

For a very brief moment he struggles with trying to correct the corner while still on the bed, but end up just throwing his pillow across the room in frustration, and gets up instead.

Ah, yes, knocking. That’s what that noise is. Very, very loud knocking that needs to fucking stop right now. He doesn’t know who the hell would be up at this ungodly hour, or why they’re knocking this insistently, but it’s echoing throughout the entire house. Completely unnecessary. He manages to maneuver his way out of his bedroom, and into the bathroom to very briefly brush his teeth, which feel like they’re covered in a thick layer of wool, and wet his hair enough that it doesn’t look like he just got a perm. The ends are just barely dark from the cheap temporary dye, and wetting his hair is enough to get the rest of it out.

Whoever is knocking on the front door is still keeping it up, so he tosses on some deodorant and Amanda’s fruity body spray, hoping it would cover up the stench of sex and whisky on the long-sleeved way-too-large red shirt he’s wearing. He’d put on pants as well, but if someone’s going to be waking him up this early in the morning, they’re only going to get a slightly convenienced.

When he opens up the front door, he almost immediately regrets it. In his room, he had the comfort of blackout curtains, but now he has to face the obnoxiously bright sun in all of its cancerous glory. But he has the comfort of having someone there to block out the majority of it, in all _his_ neat, well pressed glory. Michael rubs his eyes, squinting as he tried to get a good look at their face. “Joseph?”

The man in question has this grin on his face, it seems mostly happy, but there’s a twinge of sympathy there as well. It’s shocking almost, seeing Joseph transition from an assertive, filthy dom, to a clean pressed youth minister. Like night and day. He’s holding the ugliest red and green checkered thermos he’s ever seen in his entire life. “Forgot your glasses, didn’t you?”

“Yeah,” he croaks, throat rough. Had he even drunk anything since the previous night? He absent mindedly thinks about how he should start keeping gallons of water under his bed. It’d be the best for mornings like this when his throat feels like crawling out of his body, and his body brings hidden aches to his attention. “Long night. Throwing up and all. Amanda’s still passed out and I’m, uh, I’m doing better. Still a bit queasy.”

Even staring at the man, who doesn’t have a clue, he can’t get what he said out of his mind. It’s probably just a sex thing, ya know? Having fantasies about the new next-door neighbor.

_He doesn’t care about you. How could he? He would find out you’re nothing but a whore, and then would drop you on your ass, just like everyone else._

Michael shakes the thoughts out of his mind, and abruptly pulls Joseph into a tight hug, nearly lifting the man up out of instinct. Joseph lets out a quiet ‘oof’ in return.

“Happy birthday, Joseph. I’m sorry I couldn’t come out with all you guys last night.” Well, he didn’t come out but he definitely _came_ , that’s for sure. He pulled away, a strained smile on his face. God, he can’t do this. He just wants to curl up in bed and just die for, like, the next 50 years. If only Joseph could have kept his dirty mouth to himself.

“It’s alright, I can tell that you where, erm, _busy_.” Joseph gently plucks at the shirt that Michael’s wearing before shoving the thermos in his hands. “I understand. But, uh, can you tell Robert that if he’s just going sneak out of my party, to not come in the first place?” Joseph gives him a warm, sunny smile, but oh God his eyes are so cold and sharp it sends shivers down his spine.

“H-Hey, I don’t know what ideas you’re having, but Robert came in to check on me last night, and gave me his shirt because mine had, ya know, up chuck all over it. There’s nothing- I would never-”

Joseph places a hand on Michael’s shoulder. “Lying is a sin, Michael. I know Robert’s a hard man to resist. I should let you know, though, that I brought over soup Mary made last night after the party, and cleaned up Amanda’s mess in the bathroom. You might want to talk with her about her drinking habits, whatever she tried to wash out in the tub and sink definitely was not cookies.”

“Oh Christ! Joseph, you did _not_ have to clean our bathroom, especially on your birthday. I was planning on it as soon as I got home, but when I was at the store I…” Bile starts rising in his throat as he tries to string together a half-baked lie based on what happened last night. But every time he tries to remember, all he wants to do is run to the bathroom and ruin all of Joseph’s hard work. “I- I met someone I was friends with, and we… We, um, got sidetracked. And we I finally got home, Robert helped me with my stuff, but then I threw up! And, Robert, he… He gave me his shirt to wear because all my other clothes were dirty.”

Joseph’s face softens, and he checks behind him before stepping inside and closing the door behind him. He grabs Michael by his shoulders and leads him over to sit on the couch. “Michael, I can tell something is wrong. I’ve seen it before while counseling. Did Robert, or that friend- did they _do_ something to you?” His voice goes so quiet and so sincere it makes Michael’s heart throb, just a little. “Force themselves on you?”

_Lie to him, come on, you can do it. You’ve done it dozens of time before. If you can tell Alex that nothing happened, you can tell Joseph._

“Why don’t I make us some drinks tonight, Joseph? You shouldn’t have had to clean up my bathroom like that. Think of it as an apology, and as my birthday gift to you.”

_Smooth Michael, real smooth._

“Don’t avoid the question, Mike. Something happened, and I want to help you. But I can’t help you if you don’t tell me anything!” His grip on his shoulder gets tighter.

He shakes Joseph off, and stands up, smile plastered to his face. “I was thinking maybe shaking it up a bit and I can try my hand at mimosas? I know they aren’t that hard to make, but oh man, could Craig tell you some stories about how I fucked up perfectly simple cocktails. Like the time I was making white Russians-”

“Michael! Stop avoid-”

“I’m not avoiding, I’m changing the subject-”

“What they did is illegal, and you need to bring this to the autho-”

Michael’s hands slam down on the back of the couch, above either of Joseph’s shoulders. His face was uncharacteristically tense and stoic, yet his eyes burned bright. “Listen Joseph, I understand you care and want to help, but this is something I do _not_ nor do I actually need help with. I’ve dealt with this before, and I can deal with it now. All I want is a friend who isn’t going to remind me of what happened, and be there to support me.”

God, their lips were barely inches apart. All it would take is leaning forward just a little bit more, and he would be kissing those gorgeous, cock sucker lips. It’s the perfect chance, and he’s hardly restraining himself.

_This is what’s wrong with you. He’s genuinely trying to help you, and all that’s on your mind is sex, sex, sex. Can’t you take anything seriously? No wonder you stick around working as a whore, it’s the only thing you’re good at. If you tried office work, you’d be bent over your boss’ desk with your slacks pulled to your knees, begging for a promotion. Just like you do for every dad in the neighborhood. I wonder when you’re going to have the balls to finally pounce on Joseph, you do, after all, have the perfect chance._

It’s only when he sees how pink Joseph’s cheeks are, and hears his breath hitch that he backs up, shame ridden all over his face.

_A wasted opportunity._

“Before we drop the subject, can I- can I ask you one question?” His voice is so quiet, and his eyes look anywhere but him. Michael can see him chewing up the inside of his lips.

“Yeah,” he croaks. “Anything.”

“It wasn’t Robert… Was it?”

Michael seems greatly interested in a stain partially hidden under a rug all of a sudden. “No. He, uh, he found me afterwards and helped me home. I didn’t- he took my clothes, so Rob gave me his shirt.”

Joseph nods solemnly, hands clasped together as he examines the same stain as Michael, becoming invested in the dark color and curvy outline as well.

“So… Cocktails?”

“Yeah. I mean, we don’t have to drink cocktails. I have a bottle of Lambrusco stored around here somewhere, but if you like the bitter stuff, I think I might still have some of Merlot buried in some boxes in the basement.”

“S-sounds wonderful!” His voice almost cracks. “I’ll show up at around ten then?” He’s smiling, but it seems so strained and forced that Michael almost can’t bear it.

He doesn’t like this, it feels wrong. So, so wrong, but Joseph already has so many of his own problems, he doesn’t need Michael’s own piled on top. The man just has a face that makes him want to spill every single one of his darkest secrets.

“Perfect, Amanda should be babysitting Daisy then, so we won’t have to worry about her mooching off the food. And I’ve got a few surprises for you too.” He gives Joseph a saucy little wink. He grabs Joseph by the hands and pulls him up off the couch. “Come on now, I’m pretty sure your kids want to spend their dad’s birthday with him.”

“But my birthday was yester-” He tries to object as Michael pushes him towards the door.

“Hush, now. It’s your birthday week. Now go have fun with them, they won’t stay like this for long. You need to cherish every moment you have with them.” The ‘and you never know which might be your last’ hangs in the air like the stench of decaying roadkill. Neither of them need to acknowledge it, and Joseph allows himself to be pushed towards the door. “And thank you for the… Tea, is it? It was very thoughtful of you.”

“Yes, ginger with honey. It’s what my mother always made me when I wasn’t feeling well. But now I’m not too sure if I should have brought it over,” he awkwardly chuckles as he stands in the open doorway, wringing his hands together. “I… I know you don’t want to talk about what happened, and I promise I won’t bring it up anymore- but I’d love to hear about Alex some time. I get the feeling you don’t really talk about him much, and that’s a darn shame, to not preserve someone’s memory like that.”

Michael’s normally so full of life, and light, and energy, and passion, that when he goes still and quiet at the mention it’s like watching a candle being snuffed out. “Mmmm, it’s a bit of a sore subject around here. But talking would- talking about him would be nice. I don’t get to do it often.” A small smile struggles to grace his lips.

God, it hurts to even watch him try. Joseph, thinking he’s done enough damage for now, backs up out of the entrance and towards his house. “It was nice chatting with you Michael. Can’t wait to see you tonight!”

And like that, Joseph is gone, lightly jogging back to his house, where Christie and Christian are outside putting Barbie heads on pikes, while covering the dolls’ naked bodies in red glitter glue.

As soon as Michael closes the door, he slides down it, hands curled into his hair. Fucking fuck, God damn Christ!

_Could you have made any bigger mistakes than that? You know that you’re going to be alone with him, at night, no interruptions, both of you drunk… We both know what’s going to happen, and this time, you WILL be a homewrecker, not just some dumb whore he hired._

“Shut the fuck up…” he mumbles, crumpling in on himself. He was pulling so hard on his hair as he murmured swears under his breath that he nearly tears it right out. It’s okay. Everything is alright. All he has to do is sit here for a bit until the tears stop streaming down his face, and his body stops forcing him to curl in on himself. And maybe catch his breath, but he knows that isn’t going to happen until he gets up.

But there’s a knock at his door, and he shoots straight up, and opens the door without thinking, smile on his face. “Heeeey, Craig, what’s up bro?”

“You’re late for our jog, bro. Joseph said you were sick, so I didn’t want to push it, but I was worried bro.” There’s a slight, pink tinge to his cheeks, a smile on his face, and his eyes make for the same stain on the floor.

He’s a comfortable sight. Good, familiar, grounding.

_Single, not married, easy._

Michael shakes his head. “Nah, I think I got it all out of system. Amanda though… Eh, I don’t think she’s ever getting out of bed. Honestly, I didn’t think I was either, but had to get the mail, ya know? Couponing and all that.”

Craig beams at him, all previous embarrassment shaken off like water on a dog. “Really? That’s great bro! But you shouldn’t be pushing your body, you should be recovering. Since Smashley has the kids, you can always come over to my place and we can play some Settlers of Catan. I know that was your favorite game, bro.”

_The kids aren’t in the house._

“Bro you still have that?! That’s insane, I haven’t played it in forever!”

_Just you and him, alone…_

“Yeah! The kids and I play it every other weekend, they love it. I’ll even make you an omelet, bro. If you’re anything like you were in college, then you still don’t eat anything for breakfast.”

“Ha! Got me there. You know me too well bro.”

“So, you wanna come over? I can always put off jogging until later.”

_Do it. **Do it!**_

“Yeah, bro. Sounds good! Just let me throw on some clean clothes.”

The next thing Michael knows, he’s at Craig’s house, pinned down to his couch with tiles, cards, and pieces scattered everywhere. Oh well, they had tried. But Michael had really, _really_ needed wood, and Craig wasn’t giving any, so he had to improvise.

“If you give me 4 wood I’ll…” His eyes had flittered across the room. He considered, perhaps, saying he’ll do weight training, or maybe even babysit River for him, but…

_Don’t be such a pussy._

“I’ll suck _your_ wood.”

Craig was silent for a moment, before bursting out into a deep bellowing laugh. “Bro… Bro what? That was terrible man, even for you.”

Michael looked him directly in the eye, as serious as he could manage in the moment. “Craig. I’m not joking.”

It was in that moment of silence that hung in the air between them that Craig had closed the distance between then, and lunged over the table, scattering the pieces everywhere as he crawled over the table to crush their lips together.

And that how Michael ended up with Craig running one hand through his curls, and his other warm and heavy hand sneaking up under his shirt, while he pressed the rest of the length of his body up against him, effectively pinning him there.

“Bro…” he groaned as their lips parted, and he leaned their foreheads together. He was a beautiful sight, eyes half lidded, cheeks red, hair tousled.

Michael couldn’t help himself from rolling his hips up, moaning at the delicious friction it created, and at the long, low groan Craig let out. His own hands slip under the elastic bands of his sweatpants and- fuck he wasn’t even wearing underpants- kneads the mounds of flesh under his hands, trying to pull him down as he grinds up. “Fuck’s sake Craig, your ass,” Michael lets out a flittering moan, digging his nails into Craig’s soft, supple skin. “Your ass should be illegal. Bet I could bounce a quarter off it.”

“Fffffuuuuuck, you tried that in college, remember?” Craig’s reminiscent chuckle fades off into a moan when Michael delves his fingers down Craig’s cleft, and starts lightly pressing his fingers against his entrance. “Said you could do a quarter bounce off my ass and into your shot.”

“Yeah, but you were so drunk, you took off your pants and underwear to do it, then curled up on the floor and cried for an hour when the gin splashed up on your asshole.” Michael rolls them over in a surprising show of strength. “But today, the only thing that’s going to be on your asshole is me,” he shimmies Craig’s sweatpants off expertly, and tosses them over his shoulder before nestling himself between his bro’s legs again. “And you bet your ass you’re going to be crying once I’m done with you.”

“Brooo…” Craig groans, throwing his head back. “Oh, fuck, you’re way smoother than you were in college. You been practicing?”

Michael didn’t answer, but instead spread Craig’s cheeks, and licks a stripe up him, before circling his tongue around his entrance.

_Better wash your mouth out when you’re done with him. Or are you gonna get off on shoving your tongue down Joseph’s throat after it’s been up inside Craig?_

**_Shut up._ **

_Ooooh, talking back now, are we? Haven’t done this while. Not since you shut down after Alex-_

**_I said shut up._ **

One of Craig’s hands is in his hair, pulling him closer, and he’s biting down on the knuckles of his other one, hips bucking down against the tongue lapping into his ass, alongside two of his own fingers. His free hand is fisting Craig’s gorgeous, uncut, heavy cock. Oh, when did this happen?

_When you were arguing with me, asshole. It’s been too long, you’ve forgotten._

Michael ignores, shoving the thought down. Think about something, anything else. Not it, never it.

Craig’s cock. Warm, thick. God, he can’t even recall all the times in college when he dreamed, and almost did, drop down and suck him off until his knees were shaking and he was coming down his throat. But he couldn’t resist Craig’s ass, never in a million years. Especially with how pert and supple it’s gotten over the years.

Maybe one day he’ll suck the proverbial life out of him. He can’t imagine Craig is getting much action now-a-days. He also ‘go, go, go’ and no stopping to savor the moments. Except for now it seems. If this is what it takes to get Craig to stop and relax, then it’s a price he is both willing and eager to pay.

It’s not long before the grip in his hair tightens, Craig’s whole-body tenses up, and his thighs clamp around his head as thick white strands of cum spurt out of his cock, making a mess of his shirt. He may have tried to muffle himself, but his cried-out moans still ring out, and fuck if it isn’t the hottest God damn thing he’s ever heard, even with his thigh earmuffs.

Michael sits up, smile on his face as he admires his handy work. Craig’s shirt had been half rucked up, so cum is splattered all over his glorious, sweaty, abs, his shirt, and even a little bit of his face. Riiight there, on his bottom lip. He leans over to licks it off, a smirk on his face as Craig lets out a soft ‘Oh”.

“B-Bro… That was- that was _amazing_.” His chest heaves as he desperately tries to catch his breath. “Ah, f-fuck. You’ve been holding out on me all these years… Should’ve jumped you when I had the chance in college. Remember when we- You remember when I broke my bed is junior year, and we shared yours for the month before housing could replace it?”

He sits back on his heels and lets out a laugh. Cold, wrong. It doesn’t fit him. “Yeah, and I woke up every morning to you rubbing your dick against my ass because you would spoon me in the middle of the night and thought I was your pillow.”

Craig lets out a genuine chuckle, face going even redder than before. He awkwardly coughs, voice getting serious. “I might have, uh, lied about thinking you were my pillow. When I’d go jack it in the shower, you were the only one I was thinking about.” He goes quiet, and can’t meet eyes with Michael.

“Bro, I-” Can’t do this, can’t do this, can’t do this. “I need to go. This was, it was fun but- Amanda-”

Craig props himself up on one elbow, and reaches for the zipper on Michael’s pants. “At least let me-”

Michael slaps his hand away, and scrambles to untangle himself and get out the front door. He doesn’t stop running until he’s in his bathroom, door locked, and water running.

He stares at himself in the mirror, but the person looking back isn’t him. It can’t be him. His face isn’t that gaunt, or skin that pale. Those bags under his eyes aren’t that dark either. A hand reaches up and touches the reflections face. Bony, veiny, pale, nails chewed too short and knuckles scrapped up. The face looks broken, sad, lost, eyes are dead and flat. Too dark, not his. He’s honey and warm and soft and round, and that… They’re icy blue, cold, sharp, unforgiving. Not him, never him.

_Of course, it’s you, who else would it be?_

**_No, it’s you. I’m fine, I’m okay. You’re wrong and broken and nothing like me._ **

Michael shakes his, and stares down into the sink. It’s still pristine and shines like the day he bought the place. He slides his hands into his jeans, and under the elastic band of his boxers. He knows that he’s only going to get frustrated id he ignores-

And, nothing?

He tries stroking his softie, but nothing happens. He strokes the frenulum, thinks of Craig and his muscles and desperate moans, thinks of Robert and his warm hands and the wonderful beard burn he’d get, thinks of Joseph-

Fuck.

He can’t do it.

He slides off his pants, not bothering with his boxers, and slips into the shower. The water isn’t hot, or even lukewarm, it’s icy cold, but he doesn’t have it in him to reach for the knob. He lets the spray wash over him, pricking his skin and making him shiver. It’s times like these that he’s grateful for leaving the shampoo and conditioner on the edge of the tub instead of up in the rack with everything else.

It’s a slow, yet methodical, process as Michael washes, rinses, conditions, rinses. He remembers reading somewhere that people who crave intimacy and are depressed take longer showers so the heat simulated that of a lover, but what does it mean for him when he takes long, cold showers?

Michael shivers, getting soap in his eye, and decides it would be for the best if he didn’t dwell on the subject for too long. When he finishes up his pity shower, however long that takes him, he stares into the mirror, almost terrified by what it holds.

Honey, warm, soft. Bright eyes, round cheeks, freckles, a nice tan.

He rushes into his room, leaving the wet and soggy boxers in the bottom of the tub, and rushes to get dressed and put product in his hair before it gets too dry. As he runs the moose through his hair, he glances up at the crack between his heavy black curtains, and the window. The sky is already a shimmering orange and pink, and he has to wonder how Gad damn long he spent in that shower.

Fucking liminal spaces.

He hangs up one of his nicer suits to wear for when Joseph came over. Well, slacks and a button up, really, but Joseph _had_ mentioned that he really liked the cat print on his shirt. In the meantime, he throws on some old sweats, and a baggy t-shirt with too many holes and hair dye on it, and digs through his closet. He knows that the thing he wanted to give was in here _somewhere_ and it was only a matter of time before-

Aha!

He quickly folds it up and shoves it into the nearest bag, which was sparkly and holographic pink, probably from Amanda’s 7th birthday. But it works better than everything else he has. He carefully conceals it with tissue paper, and sets it on the bed before setting out to clean the entire God damn house.

It’s one of those days that his mind is so far away in the clouds that he does a deep clean. And since Amanda went straight from school over to Brian’s, he can actually accomplish it. All the clothes strewn about are thrown into the basement to be washed, the furniture was moved into the kitchen and back so he could foam clean that stupid stain out, along with the rest of the carpet, he steam cleans the curtains and walls, dusts everything down, vacuums the couch, polishes the T.V. screen, picture frames, and windows, mop the kitchen floor and everything else down with bleach until the place is spotless and shines like his father’s bald head. He even strings up little fairy lights around the living room. They look like little seashells, something he had gotten Amanda to take to college with her. But he doesn’t think she’ll mind.

By the time he’s done, he has to throw his soggy boxers into the basement, and wash up his body really quick so instead of smelling like sweat and bleach, he smells like cucumbers and agave.

He checks the clock as he strolls into his bedroom, towel wrapped around his waist and hair still in a shower cap. 9:30pm, almost there. He carefully gets dressed, as to not wrinkle his clothing, and applies his nicest cologne. He isn’t exactly sure what the smell is, other than strong, but it smells fancy.

Smells like his life isn’t completely falling apart at the seams.

He leaves the gift bag on the coffee table, and as he finishes setting out the glasses and pouring the wine, there’s a knock on the door. He carefully set the bottle in an ice bucket, and takes in a few deep breaths before opening the door.

And there stand Joseph, in all his magnificent glory. Neatly pressed Khakis, an only slightly ill-fitting polo straining around his arms and chest, and a cheerful grin on his face.

Michael grins back, and although it wasn’t as bad as it was with Craig, his grin feels like someone copy-pasted another mouth over his. “Joseph! I’m glad I didn’t scare you off early,” He steps aside, and motions inwards. “Please, come it.”

The house still smells like cleaner, but if Joseph has a problem with it, he definitely doesn’t voice or show it as he walks inside. “Wow, you really cleaned up the place. And just for me?”

 _Of course, anything for Joseph. You would throw yourself off a cliff for him, wouldn’t you? Pathetic, you were never like that with_ him _. It’s why they got him-_

**_shut up Shut up Shut Up sHUt UP-_ **

“Hey, Michael, are you alright? You were kind of going off into space there.”

They’re both on the couch now, each sipping from a glass of wine. The taste is savory, almost buttery, on his tongue. “Peachy keen, just got lost in thought.”

He sets down his glass on the coaster and shoves the gift bag into his hands. “Here,” he blurts out. “Your birthday gift. It’s a little old, but... I really hope you like it.”

Joseph’s smile had faltered, but springs right back up as he pulls out the clumps of tissue paper and neatly sets them on the coffee table. He holds out the sweater in front of him. It’s an ugly neon pink color, and made from a thin material that could barely count as a sweater. On the front, across the chest, it says “MARGARITTAVILLE – ATLANTIC CITY 2001” in a garish font, surrounded by leaves and brightly colored flowers, and on the back was an incredibly detailed picture of a margarita with a red macaw perched right next to it, and in the background a beach, ocean, and tropical forests. On the top it says in the same ugly font “WASTIN’ AWAY IN” and on the bottom it says “MARGARITTAVILLE”. There’s a little tear between the left sleeve and cuff, and small tears along the edge of the both of the cuffs. It was well worn and taken care of.

“Michael, I…” For a moment, the smile, the pretense, the perfect Adonis like qualities of Joseph’s face melt away, leaving pure, raw emotion that he never thought was possible for anyone to express. But just like that, his composure is back up, his face filled with a pleasant smile. “This is wonderful gift, and I cannot express in words how grateful I am for it.”

He can tell Joseph is about to make a move. He knows the signs. The hand caressing, the light blush on his cheeks, the way he was just ever so slightly leaning in…

“Oooh! Are this our movie selection for the night?” he teases, pulling away. “A little early for a Christmas film, don’t you think?” He waggles the DVD case in front of him, a playful smirk on his face.

“Hey, in this good non-Christian household, it is Christmas time all the time! So, I’m gonna pop that bad boy in, and you’re going to drink that wine while watching It’s a Wonderful Life in September, and you’re gonna like it!”

Joseph laughs as Michael gets up to go the DVD player. “Alright, fine, you’ve won me over. If I _must_ I’ll sit on this couch, drinking free wine, likely cuddled up to charismatic neighbor for the next two hours, then I guess I have no choice in the matter.” He dramatically sighs and throws him arm over his eyes.

For the first time in God knows how long, Michael laughs. A deep bellied laugh that makes his ribs and his heart hurt, and even tear up a little. It feels… Good, but it hurts, like the way his muscles ache after working out.

The night goes exactly like how Joseph described. They quietly watch the movie with smiles on their faces, and sipping wine. Joseph stays cuddled up to Michael the entire time, sans when they had to pour more wine. His head stays nestled on his chest, with an arm wrapped around Michael’s back. Mike has his own arm draped over Joseph’s shoulder, while he keeps his other hand free to sip wine and discreetly wipe away tears.

Normally, being like _this_ made Michael want to jump out of his skin. He had forced himself with Alex, and still does with Amanda. It’s mechanical and stiff and awkward. But with Joseph, and the warm hum of wine buzzing in his head, he feels almost at ease. He still has that constant feeling of dread clawing away at him, but with Joseph pressed up against him, smiling, laughing under his breath, and also discreetly trying to wipe away his tears…

It’s like for one moment being caught in the eye of the storm, and Michael desperately wants to run with it. It isn’t like Margarita Zone, where he ignores his worries for a brief moment, but more like… Like…

Like he’s found the one thing in his life that would dissipate the storm entirely.

He gently trails his fingers along the warm skin of Joseph’s arm as the movie continues, and presses him mouth into his soft, luxurious hair of his.

When the movie is over, Michael lets the end credits play briefly before turning off the T.V. with the remote. He tries nudging Joseph, but the man, who has long since set his wine glass down on the table, has both of his arms securely wrapped around him. “C’mon Joe, we gotta get you home, it’s past midnight.”

“I seem,” He lets out a loud, fake snore. “To have fallen asleep. There’s nothing I can do now, except sleep on your couch.”

Michael hums, and ponders for a moment. “Oh well, it seems like I’m going to have to go get Robert to help you home, since you _are_ asleep after all. Probably won’t be too happy to be woken up-”

Joseph shoots up nearly immediately, nervous grin on his face. “I’m up! I’m up!” He rubs the back of his neck, his cheeks nearly as pink as his shirt. The flush was spreading up to the tips of his ears in a lovely way. “I- I just had a lot of fun tonight. A lot more than I’ve had in a long time.”

It’s a rare occurrence when it happens, but Michael can feel a blush blooming across his cheeks. “Me too. You’re a good friend Joseph, it was nice to hang out with you one on one like this. We should do this more often.”

“Yeah, I think so too.”

The room goes quiet between the two of them. There’s an expression on Joseph’s face, one that Michael can’t exactly place. He remembers that sometimes Alex would have the same look, but he could never figure out what it was. Until one day.

Joseph suddenly leans forward, Michael face cradled in his hands, and presses their lips together. God, his lips are so soft, and still have the tang of wine on them. He twines his fingers in Joseph’s soft locks, trying to pull him closer, but the man is like a rock.

_You’ve got him, whore, now fucking reel him in, and don’t-_

He doesn’t get a choice, as Joseph pulls away. His eyes are closed, and he’s so damn close to trembling that clenching his jaw is the only way he can steady himself. His thumbs are stroking his cheek bones, and his lips are so close that he can feel soft puffs of breath against his lips. “I-I’m sorry, I can’t…”

Joseph stands up, the sweater Michael gave him in one hand. “I want to- be with you that it, but I couldn’t- I would never-” He has to stop and take a deep breath. “I could never let myself be with you while you’re still healing. I care about you, more than I should. But you’re in a bad place right now, I can’t in good conscious try to ‘get with you’, while you’re still healing with what happened. You mean too much to me.”

Michael stares up blankly at Joseph, unsure of how exactly to react. But there’s a part of him that’s speaking before he can comprehend what he’s saying. “Thank you, Joseph. You’re a good man. I hope that one we… That we can…”

“I understand. I won’t abandon you, and I will help you with whatever you need, just… not in that way. If you need someone to cry to, hug, cuddle, or just sit next to, I’m here for you. Whatever you need.” He gently strokes Michael’s hair, and leans down to press a kiss to the top of his head. “I’m going home now, but whenever you need me, I’m only a phone call away.”

He watches as he leaves, an empty feeling aching in his chest. He doesn’t bother cleaning up, and goes straight to his room, undressing the minute the door closes until he’s down to his boxers. As he lay down in bed, he can’t help but thing about what Joseph said. Whenever…

He can’t physically stop himself as he types out the number on his phone. It only rings twice before the person on the other end picks up.

“Hello? Michael, is everything is alright?” There’s clothes rustling on the other end.

“Yeah, I’m good. I just… Can you talk to me until I fall asleep??” He lays down on his stomach on his bed, phone set next to the pillow.

There’s a low chuckle on the other end. “Of course, is there anything you want you hear about?”

“Can you- Tell me about your next sermon.”

“I don’t want to spoil anything, since I would rather you come in person to hear it, but I suppose I could tell you about it. There’s been a problem with the Youths lately, with drinking. They’re ignoring the dangers, and…”

Michael drifts off to sleep, listening to soothing tones of Joseph’s voice.

_You were never like this with him. Why are you like this with Joseph? What makes him so special?_

**_I won’t let him be taken away this time. Nothing will keep us apart._ **

**Author's Note:**

> SORRY I FORGOT TO CLICK THE MULTIPLE CHAPTER BUTTON I APOLOGIZE


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